Work Release
by Nevermore
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time for Los Angeles' defenders to get some serious help.


Mutant Enemy Television, Inc. owns pretty much everything within the Angel/Buffy universe. My use is in no way meant to challenge any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright.  Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note on Spoilers:** I've got a rough idea of what's to come in _Angel_ this season, but I don't know specifics.  If you don't want to know anything, then I'd advise you not to read this fic.  I'd say it's safe to read if you've seen up to Ep. 4.09 (I think that's _Long Day's Journey_).

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**Work Release**

by **Nevermore**

            Had it been anyone else that showed up to visit me here in prison, I would have laughed him out of the building.  But it isn't just anyone.  It's _him_.  I pick up the little phone attached to the wall, and he does the same on his side of the glass.

            "I think it's safe to say you were the last person I expected to see here," I mutter, wondering at the strange sensation in my gut.  _Is it shame?  Guilt?_  I can't really tell.  All I know is that for a couple of years now I've been free of this kind of self-inflicted emotional torment.  Behind these walls, serving my penance, I've actually been free.  Lights out at ten, wake-up call at six-thirty, day-in, day-out.  Every single one of my activities is planned for me.  I can't just get up in the morning and satisfy whatever whim comes to mind, the way I always used to.  But I'm free.

            I'm free from choices, I'm free from responsibilities, and I'm free from dealing with the guilt that, quite honestly, I deserve to have to face.  I'd forgotten all about that.  Until now.  This isn't a place for me to hide from consequences; this is a place for me to silently face everything I've done, for me to reform.  Figure's _he'd_ be the one to remind me.

            "I've just come with some news," he says.  I almost smile at the sound of his voice, at the English accent I used to think sounded so snobbish.  Now it's sorta endearing, even though the last time I heard his voice he was in agony.

            "I'll bet it has something to do with it being days since the sun's come out," I guess.  "Fire away."  _It's gotta be big to get him to come down here._

            "It's about Angelus," he says.  _Angelus…_  Okay, so maybe I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, but I know my unexpected visitor didn't say, 'Angelus,' by accident.  He could have said 'Angel,' but he didn't.  _Angelus…  Damnit._

            "Give me the 4-1-1," I prompt.  "How long has he been back?"

            "Long enough."

            "Who popped the soul's cherry this time?"

            "It didn't happen like that," he tells me.  He looks haggard, beaten . . . and a little guilty.  Okay, I'll admit it, he always seemed a bit soft, but _he's_ the one that's guilty?  I never expected to play 'Gay, or just British?' with him.  Or with Angel, for that matter.

            "What happened?"

            "We needed Angelus, so Angel voluntarily let the soul go."  It strikes me as hilarious that this conversation is being recorded.  I'd love to be there when the guards are listening to the tape.  They'll probably think the entire conversation is in some kind of code.

            "Something big happened," I mutter, already knowing that much.  The whole days of darkness thing clued me in to that.  Even worse, Angel hasn't visited me for over two months.  He's never gone that long before.  I was mad at first, then a little worried.  Guess my second reaction was the right one.  "How big?"

            "As big as it gets," he says.  "Angelus had information we needed, so we brought him back.  But…"

            "But you couldn't control him," I guessed.  "Yeah, B's Scoobies told me lots of interesting bedtime stories back in the day."  That reminds me of something else I've been wondering a lot lately.  All those dreams, and visions, and Slayer spider-sense bugging out overtime lately.  "Is Buffy still alive?  Can she handle it?"

            "She's alive," he tells me.  "But she can't handle this.  She has other problems; maybe they're related, maybe they're not.  We don't know yet.  Anyway, we're on our own here."

            "Who's we?"

            "Well, the only ones you'd really know are me and Cordy."

            "Cordelia?" I ask.  "No offense, but how the hell is _she_ still alive?"

            "She's changed.  We've all changed…"

            "Wesley," I mutter, finally getting up the nerve to say his name.  He tilts his head at me, sorta strangely, and I see a nasty scar on his neck.  _Someone wanted him dead in a real big way.  Another hair's breadth deeper, and I wouldn't be having this conversation._  "I…"  Can I say it?  Can I admit it?  "I don't know that _I've_ changed," I whisper, half-hoping that he won't hear me, that that kind of admission will never be acknowledged.

            "I don't know what --"

            "Listen," I plead, steeling my resolve for what I have to say.  I never liked disparaging myself…  "Okay, so it's bad out there.  Bad enough to conjure up Angelus.  You saw what that got you – you're only in deeper than you were before.  Let's think about what you're asking, k?  I'm assuming there's already one big bad.  Then you throw Angelus into the mix.  Your solution is to call on a fallen Slayer as the big fix?  Am I the only one that sees the stupidity in this plan?"

            "Faith…"

            "I'm not done," I interrupt.  "Look, I can only imagine what you're up against.  I figure it's gotta be real end-of-the-world type stuff to get you to come down here to face me.  I'm just not ready…"

            "Then bloody well get ready," he growls.  Whoa, never seen that side of him before.  Maybe it's just the fact that I've been in a woman's prison for two years, but that was sorta sexy.  "You have responsibilities, Faith.  Being in prison doesn't change that.  Yes, you've done lots of bad things.  Yes, you deserve to suffer.  But I, for one, am ready to forgive you.  Understand?"

            Okay, well… I never expected that.  I never even imagined that.  Hey, if I were Wesley, I would _never_ forgive me for what I did.  But I can see in his eyes that he's serious – he's not just saying it to get me to go along with this crazy-ass idea.  "You've done some bad stuff, haven't you?"

            "Yes," he sighs, "and I know what it's like to want forgiveness.  To need it.  For what it's worth, you have mine."

            'Wesley…"

            "Wes," he corrects.  "Call me Wes.  No need for all that formality… I haven't been a Watcher for a long time.  In fact, after recent events, the Council may not even exist at all, anymore."

            "What?"  There are certain things you take for granted when you're on the inside, like the sun rising and setting each day, and organizations that have been around for centuries continuing to plod along with their Old World traditions well beyond the point when I'm nothing more than dust.  Two years in here, and already two of my most basic assumptions have been proven flawed.  

            "A lot has happened," he says needlessly.  "Do you know about the hotel?"

            "Angel told me all about it," I say.  I keep quiet the tidbit that Angel said he decorated Room 312 just for me.  He said he was keeping it shut until the day I got out, in case I needed to see some familiar faces.

            "Well then, I guess that's all," Wesley mutters.  "I just wanted you to know."

            "Thanks," I blurt out before he takes the phone away from his ear.  "For everything.  You have no idea…"

            "You're welcome."  That warm smile, it just tears right into me.  After torturing him the way I did, I don't deserve to have him look at me like that.  He hangs up and walks away, signing out as he leaves the visiting room.

            I get up and walk back to my cell, feeling butterflies in my stomach as I walk.  The guards are all so small…  I never really noticed before.  Then again, I never planned to escape before.

            I've been here behind these walls for long enough.  I was wrong about everything.  Sure, I've been free from choices in here, and I've been free from responsibilities, and even free from guilt.  But that doesn't mean I haven't been healing.  Before I came in here, I sorta wanted to be like Buffy.  I wanted to be the good girl, the one people trusted.  I wanted my own circle of friends that were willing to die for me, just like Buffy had.  In these two years, all alone behind these walls, I've gained the most valuable relationship possible – I've gotten to know myself.

            I think I've gained all I can from seclusion, from prison.  The whole thing about prison is that people generally view it in one of two ways – either as rehabilitation, or as punishment.  I don't know if I can honestly say I'm rehabilitated, but I'm certainly different.  The only reason for me to stay any longer would be to be punished.  Okay, maybe I deserve that, but why stay here in the relative safety of prison while people are dying on the outside?  It's my job to help them, to protect them.

            Remaining here would serve no purpose.  It's time to leave, to do something productive, to try to repay humanity for the evil I've done.  Prison isn't the only place I can be rehabilitated.  I can continue to make myself the best little Slayer I can be, and I can do it out in the world.  I guess I'll just think of this as work release.

            _No more crimes,_ I tell myself as I start running through the layout of the prison in my head, trying to decide on the best possible escape route.  Not that it matters, really.  I'm a Slayer – this place can't hold me.  I can leave whenever I want.  The only real concern is what I do after I leave.  _No more crimes,_ I remind myself again.  _Well, after you break out of prison, that is._

Fin 


End file.
